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THE   BOOK   OF   THE   ROSE 


Vofks  of 

Charles  6.  D»  Roberts 

The  Kindred  of  the  Wild 

The  Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood 

Barbara  Ladd 

The  Forge  in  the  Forest 

A  Sister  to  Evangeline 

Earth's  Enigmas 

The  Marshes  of  Minas 

A  History  of  Canada 

The  Book  of  the  Rose 

Poems 

New  York  Nocturnes 

The  Book  of  the  Native 

In  Divers  Tones  (out  of  print) 

Songs  of  the  Common  Day  {out  of  print) 

L.  C  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

New  England  Building 

Boston,  Mass. 


Copyright  1903  by  L.  C.  Page  &  Company  (Incorporated). 


The 

Book  of  the  Rose 


By 

Charles  G.   D.   Roberts 

Author  of  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild,''  «  The  Heart  of 

the  Ancient  Wood,"  "  Barbara  Ladd," 

"Poems,"  etc. 


Boston 

L. 

C. 

Page  6- 
1903 

Company 

Copyright,  iqoo,  1901,  by 
The  Curtis  Publishing  Company 

Copyright,  iQOO,  by 
The  Criterion  Publishing  Company 

Copjrright,  1901,  by 
The  Century  Company 

Copyright,  igoi,  1902,  by 
The  Outlook  Company 

Copyright,  1900,  1901,  1902,  by 
Thb  Ess  Ess  Publishing  Company 

Copyright,  I  go  I,  by 
J.  B.  LiPPiNCOTT  Company 

Copyright,  igoi,  1902,  by 
Thb  Frank  A.  Munsey  Company 

Copyright,  1902,  by 
Harper  and  Brothers 

Copyright,  1903,  by 
L.  C.  Page  &  Company  (Incorporated) 

All  rights  reserved 


Published,  June,  1903 


CColonfal  $ie«s 

Eloctrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 

Boston.  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

I. 

Pagb 

The  Book  of  the  Rose 

On  the  Upper  Deck 3 

O  Little  Rose,  O  Dark  Rose 11 

The  Rose  of  My  Desire 13 

How  Little  I  Knew 15 

The  Rose's  Avatar 18 

The  Covert 19 

The  Rose  of  Life 20 

The  Fear  of  Love 23 

The  Wisdom  of  Love 25 

Away,  Sad  Voices 28 

Attar 29 

Invocation 31 

The  House 34 

n. 

Miscellaneous  Poems 

The  Stranded  Ship 39 

The  Pipers  of  the  Pools 46 


CONTENTS 


Page 

The  First  Ploughing 49 

The  Native 52 

Coal 55 

New  Dead 56 

Child  of  the  Infinite 58 

A  Remorse 61 

The  Conspirators 62 

Heat  in  the  City 64 

The  Great  and  the  Little  Weavers  ....  66 

Lines  for  an  Omar  Punch-Bowl 70 

Shepherdess  Fair 73 

The  Piper  and  the  Chiming  Peas     .     .     .     .  75 

When  Mary  the  Mother  Kissed  the  Child      .  77 

At  the  Wayside  Shrine 79 

The  Aim 82 


PART   I. 
THE   BOOK   OF   THE   ROSE 


ON   THE   UPPER  DECK. 

As  the  will  of  last  year's  w'tnd^ 
As  the  drift  of  the  mor row's  rain. 
As  the  goal  of  the  falling  star. 
As  the  treason  sinned  in  vain. 
As  the  bow  that  shines  and  is  gone. 
As  the  night  cry  heard  no  more  — 
Is  the  way  of  the  woman's  meaning 
Beyond  man's  eldest  lore. 

HE. 

This  hour  to  me  is  like  a  rose  just  open, 
The  wonder  of  its  golden  heart  not  yet 
Fully  revealed.     So  long  I've  waited  for  it, 
Prefigured  it  in  dream,  and  scourged  my  hope 
3 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 

With  fear  lest  jealous  fortune  should  deny, 
That  now  I  hardly  dare  —  Am  I  awake  ? 
Can  it  be  true  I  have  you  here  beside  me  ? 
Can  it  be  true  I  have  you  here  alone  — 
Most  wonderfully  alone  among  these  strangers 
Who  seem  to  me  like  senseless  shapes  of  air  ?  — 
The  throb  of  the  great  engines,  the  obscure 
Hiss  of  the  water  past  our  speeding  hull 
Seem  to  enfold  and  press  you  closer  to  me. 
No,  do  not  move !     Alone  although  we  be, 
I  dare  not  touch  your  hand ;  your  gown's  dear 

hem 
I  will  not  touch  lest  I  should  break  my  dream 
And  just  an  empty  deck-chair  mock  my  longing. 
But  (for  the  beggar  may  in  dreams  be  king). 
Oh,  let  your  eyes  but  touch  me,  let  my  spirit 
But  drink,  but  drain,  but  bathe  in  their  deep 

light. 
And  slake  its  cherished  anguish.     Look  at  me ) 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 
SHE. 

Look  how  the  water's  waiting  holds  the  sky  ! 
I  think  I  never  saw  the  Sound  so  still.  * 

That  wash  of  beryl  green,  that  melting  violet. 
That  fine  rose-amber  veiling  deeps  of  glory 
Our    eyes    could    not    endure  —  how    each    is 

doubled. 
Lest  we  should  miss  some  marvel  of  strange 

tone, 
And  be  forever  poor.     Such  beauty  seems 
To  cry  like  violins.     Hush,  and  you'll  hear  it. 
Don't  look  at  me  when  God  is  at  his  miracles. 

HE. 

He  topped  all  miracle  in  making  you. 

Your    mouth,   your    throat,   your    eyes,   your 

hands,  your  hair  — 
To  look  at  these  is  harps  within  my  soul. 
The  music  of  the  stars  at  Time's  first  morning. 
S 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 

How  can  I  see  the  wide,  familiar  world 
When  all  my  being  drowns  in  your  deep  eyes  ? 
What  is  the  maddest  sunset  to  your  eyes  ? 
Let  us  not  talk  of  sunsets. 


SHE. 

Soon  this  rose 
Of  incommunicable  light  will  fade, 
Its  ultimate  petals  sinking  in  the  sea. 
Be  still,  and  watch  the  vaster  bloom  unfold 
Whose  pollen  is  the  dust  of  stars,  whose  petals 
The  tissue  of  strange  tears,  desire  and  sleep. 


HE. 

We  talk  of  roses,  meaning  all  things  fair 
And  rare  and  enigmatic ;  but  the  rose 
Transcending  all,  the  Rose  of  Life,  is  you  ! 
6 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 

O  Rose^  blossom  of  wonder^  dark  blossom  of  ancient 

dream^ 
Wan   tides  of  the    Wandering    Sorrow    through 

your  deep  slumber  stream  ; 
Warm  winds  of  the  Wavering  Passion  are  lost  in 

your  crimson  fold^ 
And  memory  and  foreboding  at  the  hush  of  your 

heart  lie  cold. 

O  Rose^  blossom  of  mystery,  holding  within  your 
deeps 

The  hurt  of  a  thousand  vigils,  the  heal  of  a  thou- 
sand sleeps. 

There  breathes  upon  your  petals  a  power  from  the 
ends  of  earth. 

Your  beauty  is  heavy  with  knowledge  of  life  and 
death  and  birth. 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 

O  Rose,  blossom  of  longing  —  the  faint  suspense.^ 
and  the  fire^ 

The  wistfulness  of  time,  and  the  unassuaged  de- 
sire. 

The  pity  of  tears  on  the  pillow,  the  pang  of  tears 
unshed — 

With  these  your  spirit  is  weary,  with  these  your 
beauty  is  fed. 

SHE. 

Woman  or  rose,  your  verses  do  her  credit. 
Barring  some  small  confusion  in  the  figure. 

HE. 

'Tis  fusion,  not  confusion.     So  the  rose 
Be  beautiful  enough,  and  strange  enough. 
Love  in  his  haste  may  take  its  sweet  for  you ; 
And  sun  and  rain,  wise  gardeners,  seeing  you 
With  face  uplift,  will  know  the  rose  you  are. 
8 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 
SHE. 

Let  US  not  talk  of  roses.     Don't  you  think 
The  engines'  pulse  throbs  louder  now  the  light 
Has  gone  ?     The  hiss  of  water  past  our  hull 
Is  more  mysterious,  with  a  menace  in  it  ? 
And  that  pale  streak  above  the  unseen  land, 
How  ominous  !     A  sword  has  just  such  pallor  ! 
(Yes,  you  may  put  the  scarf  around  my  shoul- 
ders.) 
Never  has  life  shown  me  the  face  of  beauty 
But  near  it  I  have  seen  the  fear  of  fear. 

HE. 

I  knew  not  fear  until  I  knew  your  beauty. 

SHE. 

Let  us  not  talk  of  me.     Look  down,  close  in, 
There  where  the  night-black  water  breaks  and 
seethes. 

9 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 

How  its  heart,  torn  and  shuddering,  burns  to 

splendour ! 
What  climbing  lights  !     What  rapture  of  white 

fire! 
Clear  souls  of  flame  returning  to  the  infinite  ! 

HE. 

If  you  should  ever  come  to  say  "  I  love  you/* 
I  think  that  even  thus  my  life's  dark  tide 
Would  flame  to  sudden  glory,  and  the  gloom 
Of  long  grief  lift  forever  !      Dear,  your  eyes, 
Your  great  eyes,  shine  upon  me,  soft  as  with 

tears. 
Your   shoulder   touches    me.       What    does    it 

mean  ? 
I  hold  you  to  me.     Is  it  love  —  and  life  ? 


10 


ON     THE     UPPER     DECK 
SHE. 

Let  US  not  talk  of — love  !     I  know  so  little 
Of  love  !      I  only  know  that  life  wears  not 
The  face  of  beauty,  but  the  face  of  fear. 
The  face  of  fear  is  gone.     The  face  of  beauty 
Comes  when  you  hold  me   so  !     Help  me  to 

live ! 
Help  me  to  live,  and  hold  me  from  the  terror ! 


II 


O     LITTLE    ROSE,    O     DARK 
ROSE. 

0  little  rose,  O  dark  rose. 
With  smouldering  petals  curled, 

1  am  the  wind  that  comes  for  you 
From  the  other  side  of  the  world, 

0  little  rose,  O  dark  rose, 

With  the  hushed  and  golden  heart, 

1  am  your  bee  with  burdened  wings, 
Too  laden  to  depart. 

0  little  rose,  O  dark  rose. 
Your  soul  a  seed  of  fire, 

1  am  the  dew  that  dies  in  you. 
In  the  flame  of  your  desire. 


O  LITTLE  ROSE,  O  DARK  ROSE 

0  little  rose,  O  dark  rose. 
The  madness  of  your  breath  ! 

1  am  the  moth  to  drain  your  sweet, 
Even  though  the  dregs  be  death. 

0  little  rose,  O  dark  rose. 
When  the  garden  day  is  done 

1  am  the  dusk  that  broods  o'er  you 
Until  the  morrow's  sun. 


13 


THE     ROSE     OF     MY     DESIRE. 

O  wild,  dark  flower  of  woman, 
Deep  rose  of  my  desire, 
An  eastern  wizard  made  you 
Of  earth  and  stars  and  fire. 

When  the  orange  moon  swung  low 
Over  the  camphor-trees, 
By  the  silver  shaft  of  the  fountain 
He  wrought  his  mysteries. 

The  hot,  sweet  mould  of  the  garden 
He  took  from  a  secret  place 
To  become  your  glimmering  body 
And  the  lure  of  your  strange  face. 


14 


THE     ROSE     OF     MY     DESIRE 

From  the  swoon  of  the  tropic  heaven 
He  drew  down  star  on  star, 
And  breathed  them  into  your  soul 
That  your  soul  might  wander  far  — 

On  earth  forever  homeless, 
But  intimate  of  the  spheres, 
A  pang  in  your  mystic  laughter, 
A  portent  in  your  tears. 

From  the  night's  heat,  hushed,  electric. 
He  summoned  a  shifting  flame, 
And  cherished  it,  and  blew  on  it 
Till  it  burned  into  your  name. 

And  he  set  the  name  in  my  heart 
For  an  unextinguished  fire, 
O  wild,  dark  flower  of  woman. 
Deep  rose  of  my  desire. 


IS 


HOW     LITTLE     I     KNEW. 

How  little  I  knew,  when  I  first  saw  you, 
And  your  eyes  for  a  moment  questioned  mine, 
It  amounted  to  this,  —  that  the  dawn  and  the 

dew. 
The  midnight's  dark,  and  the  midnoon's  shine. 
The  awe  of  the  silent,  soaring  peak. 
The  harebell's  blue,  and  the  cloud  in  the  blue. 
And  all  the  beauty  I  sing  and  seek. 
Would  come  to  mean — just  you  ! 

Yet  I  might  have  known;    for  that  one  deep 

look 
Which    you    gave   me  from    under  your  hat's 

low  brim 
Months  afterward  in  my  memory  shook 
And  made  my  pulses  swim. 
i6 


HOW     LITTLE     I     KNEW 

It  will  burn  in  my  heart  the  long  years  through ; 
And  when  this  life  of  the  flesh  is  done 
I  will  open  my  heart  and  show  it  to  you 
In  the  world  beyond  the  sun. 


17 


THE     ROSE'S     AVATAR. 

There  grew  a  rose  more  wonderful 

Than  ever  Saadi  sang. 

Its  loveliness  occult  and  strange, 

A  rapture  and  a  pang. 

Its  petals  had  the  pulsing  touch 

That  shakes  the  blood  with  fire. 

Its  warm  deeps  were  the  avatar 

Of  unassuaged  desire. 

Hid  scents  and  hushed  seraglio  dreams 

Were  in  its  subtle  breath, 

The  madness  of  the  Maenad's  joy. 

The  tenderness  of  death. 

Its  soul  was  all  the  mystic  East, 

Its  heart  was  all  the  South,  — 

Till  love  and  tears  transmuted  it 

To  the  dark  rose  of  thy  mouth. 


i8 


THE   COVERT. 

Sharp  drives  the  rain  for  me, 
Bitter  the  long  night's  pain  for  me. 
Bitter  the  dawn's  disdain  for  me, 
And  breath  so  vain  a  prayer! 

But  open  your  heart  and  let  me  in. 
The  deep  of  your  soul,  oh,  set  me  in  ! 
And  sorrow  of  life  shall  forget  me  in 
The  hiding  of  your  hair  ! 


19 


THE   ROSE   OF   LIFE. 

The  Rose  spoke  in  the  garden  : 

''  Why  am  I  sad  ? 

The  vast  of  sky  above  me 

Is  blue  and  glad ; 

The  hushed  deep  of  my  heart 

Hath  the  sun's  gold ; 

The  dew  slumbers  till  noon 

In  my  petals'  hold. 

Beauty  I  have,  and  wisdom, 

And  love  I  know. 

Yet  cannot  release  my  spirit 

Of  its  strange  woe." 

Then  a  Wind,  older  than  Time, 
Wiser  than  Sleep, 


THE     ROSE     OF     LIFE 


Answered  :  "  The  whole  world's  sorrow 

Is  yours  to  keep. 

Its  dark  descends  upon  you 

At  day's  high  noon  ; 

Its  pallor  is  whitening  about  you 

From  every  moon ; 

The  cries  of  a  thousand  lovers, 

A  thousand  slain, 

The  tears  of  all  the  forgotten 

Who  kissed  in  vain, 

And  the  journeying  years  that  have  vanished 

Have  left  on  you 

The  witness,  each,  of  its  pain. 

Ancient,  yet  new. 

So  many  lives  you  have  lived; 

So  many  a  star 

Hath  veered  in  the  Signs  to  make  you 

The  wonder  you  are  ! 

And  this  is  the  price  of  your  beauty : 

Your  wild  soul  is  thronged 

21 


THE     ROSE     OF     LIFE 


With  the  phantoms  of  joy  unfulfilled 

That  beauty  hath  wronged, 

With  the  pangs  of  all  secret  betrayals, 

The  ghosts  of  desire. 

The  bite  of  old  flame,  and  the  chill 

Of  the  ashes  of  fire." 


ss 


THE   FEAR   OF   LOVE. 

Oh,  take  me  into  the  still  places  of  your  heart, 
And  hide  me  under  the  night  of  your  deep  hair ; 
For  the  fear  of  love  is  upon  me ; 
I  am  afraid  lest  God  should  discover  the  wonder- 
fulness  of  our  love. 

Shall  I  find  life  but  to  lose  it  ? 

Shall  I  stretch  out  my  hands  at  last  to  joy. 

And  take  but  the  irremediable  anguish  ? 

For  the  cost  of  heaven  is  the  fear  of  hell  j 

The  terrible  cost  of  love 

Is  the  fear  to  be  cast  out  therefrom. 

Oh,  touch  me  !      Oh,  look  upon  me  ! 
Look  upon  my  spirit  with  your  eyes, 
23 


THE     FEAR     OF     LOVE 


And   touch    me  with   the   benediction   of  your 

hands ! 
Breathe  upon  me,  breathe  upon  me, 
And  my  soul  shall  live. 
Kiss  me  with  your  mouth  upon  my  mouth 
And  I  shall  be  strong. 


»4 


THE  WISDOM   OF   LOVE. 

My  life  she  takes  between  her  hands  j 
My  spirit  at  her  feet 
Is  taught  the  lore  inscrutable. 
The  wisdom  bitter  sweet. 

The  world  becomes  a  little  thing ; 
Art,  travel,  music,  men. 
And  all  that  these  can  ever  give 
Are  in  her  brow's  white  ken. 

I  look  into  her  eyes  and  learn 

The  mystery  of  tears  ; 

The  pang  of  doubt ;  the  doom  that  haunts 

The  fleeting  of  the  years  j 


25 


THE     WISDOM     OF     LOVE 

And  pale  foreknowledge,  hid  from  all 
But  those  who  fear  to  know  j 
And  memory's  treason,  that  betrays 
Joy  to  the  nameless  woe ; 

Compassion,  like  the  rain  of  spring ; 
And  truth  without  a  flaw ; 
And  one  great  gladness,  hushed  and  still 
With  love's  initiate  awe. 

In  her  deep  hair  I  hide  my  heart ; 
And  in  that  scented  shade 
I  sail  sleep's  immemorial  sea. 
Expectant,  unafraid ; 

And  take  the  enigmatic  word 
Of  dream  upon  my  breath, 
And  learn  the  secrecy  of  joy, 
The  long  content  of  death. 


26 


THE     WISDOM     OF     LOVE 

Her  sad  mouth,  scarlet,  passionate, 
Shows  me  the  world's  desire, 
The  mirth  that  is  the  mask  of  pain. 
And  that  immortal  fire 

Drawn  by  the  touch  of  kiss  on  kiss 
From  life's  eternal  core, 
Frail,  flickering,  mordant,  keen,  unquenched 
When  time  shall  be  no  more. 

Then  worship,  love's  last  wisdom,  learned, 

I  bow  my  spirit  there. 

And  let  my  soul  in  silence  plead 

The  passion  which  is  prayer. 


27 


AWAY,   SAD   VOICES. 

Away,  sad  voices,  telling 
Of  old,  forgotten  pain  ! 
My  heart,  at  grief  rebelling. 
To  joy  returns  again. 

My  life,  at  tears  protesting. 
To  long  delight  returns, 
Where,  close  of  all  my  questing. 
Her  dear  eyes  love  discerns. 


28 


ATTAR. 

The  dark  rose  of  your  mouth 
Is  summer  and  the  south  to  mej 
The  attar  of  desire  and  dream 
Its  tendernesses  seem  to  me. 

The  clear  deep  of  your  eyes 
A  lure  of  wonder  lies  to  me. 
Whereto  my  longing  soul  descends 
While  love  comes  by  and  bends  to  me. 

The  hushed  night  of  your  hair 
Breathes  an  enchanted  air  to  me  — 
Strange  heats  from  many  a  mystic  clime 
And  far-ofF,  perished  time  to  me. 


29 


ATT  A  R 

The  pulses  of  your  throat, 
What  madness  they  denote  to  me, — 
Passion,  and  hunger,  and  despair, 
And  ecstasy,  and  prayer  to  me ! 

The  dusk  bloom  of  your  flesh 
Is  as  a  magic  mesh  to  me. 
Wherein  our  spirits  lie  ensnared. 
Your  wild,  wild  beauty  bared  to  me. 

The  white  flower  of  your  feet. 
How  sacred  and  how  sweet  to  me  ! 
From  some  close-hung  and  cloistered  shrine 
Borne  to  make  life  divine  to  me. 


30 


INVOCATION. 

0  Voice, 

Whose  sound  is  as  the  falling  of  the  rain 
On  harp-strings  strung  in  casements  by  the  sea. 
Low  with  all  passion,  poignant  with  all  pain. 
In  dreams,  out  of  thy  distance,  come  to  me. 

1  hear  no  music  if  I  hear  not  thee. 

O  Hands, 

Whose  touch  is  like  the  balm  of  apple-bloom 
Brushed  by  the  winds  of  April  from  the  bough, 
Amid  the  passionate  memories  of  this  room 
Flower   out,   sweet    hands,  a  presence    in    the 

gloom. 
And  touch   my  longing  mouth  and  cool    my 

brow. 

31 


INVOCATION 


O  Eyes, 

Whose  least  look  is  a  flame  within  my  soul, 
(Still  burns  that  first  long  look,  across  the  years  !) 
Lure  of  my  life,  and  my  desire's  control. 
Illume  me  and  my  darkness  disappears. 
Seeing  you  not,  my  eyes  see  naught  for  tears. 

O  Lips, 

The  rose's  lovelier  sisters,  you  whose  breath 

Seems  the  consummate  spirit  of  the  rose  — 

Honey  and  fire,  delirium  and  repose. 

And   that  long  dream  of  love  that   laughs    at 

death  — 
All  these,  all  these  your  scarlet  blooms  enclose. 

O  Hair, 

Whose  shadows  hold  the  mystery  of  a  shrine 
Heavy  with  vows  and  worship,  where  the  pale 
Priests  who  pour  out  their  souls  in  incense  pine 


32 


INVOCATION 


For  dead  loves  unforgot  —  be  thou  the  veil 
To  my  heart's  altar,  secret  and  divine. 

O  Voice,  O  Hands,  O  Eyes,  O  Lips,  O  Hair, 
Of  your  strange  beauty  God  Himself  hath  care. 
So  deep  the  riddle  He  hath  wrought  therein  — 
Whether  for  love's  delight,  or  love's  despair. 


33 


THE  HOUSE. 

My  heart  is  a  house,  deep-walled  and  warm, 
To  cover  you  from  the  night  of  storm. 

O  little  wild  feet,  too  softly  white 
To  roam  the  world's  tempestuous  night, 
The  years  like  sleet  on  my  windows  beat, — 
Come  in  and  be  cherished,  O  little  wild  feet. 
My  heart  is  a  house,  deep-walled  and  warm. 
To  cover  you  from  the  night  of  storm. 

In  the  hillside  hollow  each  lonely  flower 
Is  closed  against  the  disastrous  hour. 
The  wet  crow  rocks  in  the  wind-blown  tree ; 
The  tern  drives  in  from  the  lashing  sea. 


34 


THE     HOUSE 


My  heart  is  a  house,  deep- walled  and  warm. 
To  cover  you  from  the  night  of  storm. 

Down  from  the  naked  heights  of  cloud 

Care  and  despair  cry  low,  cry  loud. 

The  dark  woods  mutter  with  thronging  fears  j 

The  rocks  are  drenched  with  the  rain  of  tears. 
My  heart  is  a  house,  deep-walled  and  warm, 
To  cover  you  from  the  night  of  storm. 

O  little  dark  head,  too  dear  and  fair 
For  the  buffeting  skies  and  the  bitter  air. 
Time  sweeps  the  wold  with  his  wings  of  dread,  — 
Come  in  and  be  comforted,  little  dark  head. 
My  heart  is  a  house,  deep-walled  and  warm, 
To  cover  you  from  the  night  of  storm. 


35 


PART    II. 
MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS 


37 


THE   STRANDED   SHIP. 

Far  up  the  lonely  strand  the  storm  had  lifted  her. 
And  now  along  her  keel  the  merry  tides  make 

stir 
No  more.     The  running  waves  that  sparkled 

at  her  prow 
Seethe  to  the  chains   and  sing  no    more  with 

laughter  now. 
No  more  the  clean  sea-furrow  follows  her.    No 

more 
To  the  hum  of  her  gallant  tackle  the  hale  Nor'- 

westers  roar. 
No  more  her  bulwarks  journey.     For  the  only 

boon  they  crave 
Is  the  guerdon  of  all  good  ships  and  true,  the 

boon  of  a  deep-sea  grave. 
39 


THE     STRANDED      SHIP 

Take   me  outy  sink  me  deep  in   the  green  pro- 

foundy 
To  sway  with  the  long  weed^  swing  with  the 

drownedy 
Where   the  change  of  the   soft   tide  makes  no 

soundy 
Far  below  the  keels  of  the  outward  bound. 

No  more  she  mounts  the  circles  from  Fundy  to 

the  Horn, 
From  Cuba  to  the  Cape  runs  down  the  tropic 

morn, 
Explores  the  Vast  Uncharted  where  great  bergs 

ride  in  ranks, 
Nor  shouts  a  broad  "  Ahoy  "  to  the  dories  on 

the  Banks. 
No   more   she   races   freights  to  Zanzibar  and 

back. 
Nor  creeps  where  the  fog  lies  blind  along  the 

liners'  track, 

40 


THE     STRANDED     SHIP 

No  more  she  dares  the  cyclone's  disastrous  core 

of  calm 
To  greet  across  the  dropping  wave  the  amber 
isles  of  palm. 
Take  me  out^  sink  me  deep   in  the  green  pro- 
found^ 
To  sway  with   the  long  weed,  swing  with  the 

drowned^ 
Where   the   change  of  the   soft  tide   makes  no 

sound^ 
Far  below  the  keels  of  the  outward  hound. 

Amid    her    trafficking    peers,    the    wind-wise, 

journeyed  ships, 
At   the    black    wharves  no   more,  nor    at    the 

weedy  slips, 
She  comes    to   port  with   cargo  from  many  a 

storied  clime. 
No    more    to    the    rough-throat    chantey    her 

windlass  creaks  in  time. 
41 


THE     STRANDED     SHIP 

No   more  she  loads    for  London    with    spices 

from  Ceylon, — 
With  white  spruce  deals  and  wheat  and  apples 

from  St.  John. 
No  more  from  Pernambuco  with  cotton-bales, 

—  no  more 
With  hides  from  Buenos  Ayres  she  clears  for 
Baltimore. 
Take  me  outy  sink  me  deep   in  the  green  pro- 

foundy 
To  sway  with  the  long  weed,  swing  with  the 

drownedy 
Where   the    change   of  the  soft   tide  makes  no 

soundy 
Far  below  the  keels  of  the  outward  bound. 

Wan  with  the   slow  vicissitudes   of  wind    and 

rain  and  sun 
How  grieves   her  deck   for  the  sailors  whose 

hearty  brawls  are  done  ! 

42 


THE     STRANDED     SHIP 

Only  the   wandering  gull  brings   word  of  the 

open  wave, 
With  shrill  scream  at  her  taffrail  deriding  her 

alien  grave. 
Around  the  keel  that  raced  the  dolphin  and  the 

shark 
Only  the  sand-wren  twitters  from  barren  dawn 

till  dark ; 
And  all  the  long  blank  noon  the  blank  sand 

chafes  and  mars 
The  prow  once  swift  to  follow  the  lure  of  the 
dancing  stars. 
Take  me  out,  sink   me  deep  in  the  green  pro- 
found^ 
To  sway  with  the  long  weed^   swing  with  the 

drowned^ 
Where  the   change   of  the  soft    tide   makes   no 

sound^ 
Far  below  the  keels  of  the  outward  hound. 


43 


THE     STRANDED     SHIP 

And  when  the  winds   are   low,  and  when  the 
tides  are  still, 

And   the    round    moon    rises   inland    over    the 
naked  hill, 

And  o'er  her  parching    seams    the  dry  cloud- 
shadows  pass, 

And  dry  along  the  land-rim  lie  the  shadows  of 
thin  grass, 

Then  aches  her  soul  with  longing  to  launch  and 
sink  away 

Where  the    fine   silts    lift   and  settle,  the  sea- 
things  drift  and  stray. 

To  make  the  port  of  Last   Desire,  and  slumber 
with  her  peers 

In  the  tide-wash  rocking  softly  through  the  un- 
numbered years. 
Take  me  out^  sink  me  deep  in   the  green  pro- 
found^ 
To  sway  with  the  long  weed,  swing  with   the 
drowned, 

44 


THE     STRANDED     SHIP 

Where   the  change   of  the   soft  tide   makes   no 

sound^ 
Far  below  the  keels  of  the  outward  bound. 


45 


THE    PIPERS   OF   THE   POOLS. 

Pipers  of  the  chilly  pools 
Pipe  the  April  in. 
Summon  all  the  singing  hosts, 
All  the  wilding  kin. 

Through  the  cool  and  teeming  damp 
Of  the  twilight  air 
Call  till  all  the  April  children 
Answer  everywhere. 

From  your  cold  and  fluting  throats 
Pipe  the  world  awake, 
Pipe  the  mould  to  move  again. 
Pipe  the  sod  to  break. 


46 


THE     PIPERS     OF     THE     POOLS 

Pipe  the  mating  song  of  earth 
And  the  fecund  fire,  — 
Love  and  laughter,  pang  and  dream. 
Desire,  desire,  desire. 

Then  a  wonder  shall  appear. 

Miracle  of  time : 

Up  through  root  and  germ  and  sap  wood 

Life  shall  climb,  and  climb. 

Then  the  hiding  things  shall  hear  you 
And  the  sleeping  stir. 
And  the  far-off  troops  of  exile 
Gather  to  confer ; 

Then  the  rain  shall  kiss  the  bud 
And  the  sun  the  bee. 
Till  they  all,  the  painted  children 
Flower  and  wing  get  free ; 


47 


THE     PIPERS     OF     THE     POOLS 

And  amid  the  shining  grass 
Ephemera  arise, 

And  the  windflowers  in  the  hollow 
Open  starry  eyes ; 

And  delight  comes  in  to  whisper  — 
"  Soon,  soon,  soon 
Earth  shall  be  but  one  wild  blossom 
Breathing  to  the  moon  !  " 


48 


THE   FIRST   PLOUGHING. 

Calls  the  crow  from  the  pine-tree  top 

When  the  April  air  is  still. 

He  calls  to  the  farmer  hitching  his  team 

In  the  farmyard  under  the  hill. 

"  Come  up,"  he  cries,  "  come  out  and  come  up, 

For  the  high  field's  ripe  to  till. 

Don't  wait  for  word  from  the  dandelion 

Or  leave  from  the  daffodil." 

Cheeps  the  flycatcher  —  "  Here  old  earth 
Warms  up  in  the  April  sun ; 
And  the  first  ephemera,  wings  yet  wet, 
From  the  mould  creep  one  by  one. 


49 


THE     FIRST     PLOUGHING 

Under  the  fence  where  the  flies  frequent 
Is  the  earliest  gossamer  spun. 
Come  up  from  the  damp  of  the  valley  lands, 
For  here  the  winter's  done." 

Whistles  the  high-hole  out  of  the  grove 

His  summoning  loud  and  clear : 

"  Chilly  it  may  be  down  your  way 

But  the  high  south  field  has  cheer. 

On  the  sunward  side  of  the  chestnut  stump 

The  woodgrubs  wake  and  appear. 

Come  out  to  your  ploughing,  come  up  to  your 

ploughing, 
The  time  for  ploughing  is  here." 

Then  dips  the  coulter  and  drives  the  share. 
And  the  furrows  faintly  steam. 
The  crow  drifts  furtively  down  from  the  pine 
To  follow  the  clanking  team. 


50 


THE     FIRST     PLOUGHING 

The  flycatcher  tumbles,  the  high-hole  darts 
In  the  young  noon's  yellow  gleam ; 
And  wholesome  sweet  the  smell  of  the  sod 
Upturned  from  its  winter's  dream. 


SI 


THE   NATIVE. 

Rocks,  I  am  one  with  you ; 
Sea,  I  am  yours. 
Your  rages  come  and  go. 
Your  strength  endures. 

Passion  may  burn  and  fade; 
Pain  surge  and  cease. 
My  still  soul  rests  unchanged 
Through  storm  and  peace. 

Fir-tree,  beaten  by  wind. 
Sombre,  austere. 
Your  sap  is  in  my  veins, 
O  kinsman  dear. 

52 


THE     NATIVE 


Your  fibres  rude  and  true 
My  sinews  feed  — 
Sprung  of  the  same  bleak  earth, 
The  same  rough  seed. 

The  tempest  harries  us. 
It  raves  and  dies ; 
And  wild  limbs  rest  again 
Under  wide  skies. 

Grass,  that  the  salt  hath  scourged, 
Dauntless  and  grey, 
Though  the  harsh  season  chide 
Your  scant  array, 

Year  by  year  you  return 
To  conquer  fate. 
The  clean  life  nourishing  you 
Makes  me,  too,  great. 


53 


THE     NATIVE 


O  rocks,  O  fir-tree  brave, 
O  grass  and  sea  ! 
Your  strength  is  mine,  and  you 
Endure  with  me. 


54 


COAL. 

Deep  in  the  hush  of  those  unfathomed  glooms 
Whereunder    steamed    the    wet    and    pregnant 

earth, 
Pulsing  thick  sap  and  pungent,  hot  perfumes. 
This  providence  of  unguessed  needs  had  birth. 
From  drench  of  the  innumerable  rain 
And  drowse  of  unrecorded  noon  on  noon 
It  sucked  the  heat   and   plucked  the  light,  to 

gain 
For  times  unborn  a  boon. 


55 


NEW   DEAD. 

Where  are  the  kind  eyes  gone 
That  watched  me  so  ? 
Was  it  but  now  they  wept, 
Or  long  ago  ? 

Why  did  they  run  with  tears 
And  yearn  to  me  ? 
What  was  it  in  my  face 
They  feared  to  see  ? 

Ah,  world,  when  did  I  pass 
Beyond  your  smile,  — 
Forget  you,  for  a  long 
Or  little  while  ? 


S6 


NEW     DEAD 


Descending  from  the  sun 
Into  this  night, — 
Impenetrable  dark 
That  chokes  my  sight,— 

Ah,  now  I  know  why  stirs 
No  more  my  breath  ! 
My  mouth  is  stopt  with  dust. 
My  dream  with  death. 

Where  is  this  seed  of  self 
I  clutch  to  hold  ? 
Will  it  dissolve  with  me 
Into  the  mould  ? 

It  slips,  —  ah,  let  me  sleep. 
Worn,  worn,  outworn  ! 
So  to  be  strong  when  I    . 
Arise,  new  born ! 


57 


CHILD   OF   THE   INFINITE. 

Sun,  and  Moon,  and  Wind,  and  Flame, 
Dust,  and  Dew,  and  Day  and  Night,  — 
Ye  endure.     Shall  I  endure  not, 
Though  so  fleeting  in  your  sight  ? 
Ye  return.     Shall  I  return  not. 
Flesh,  or  in  the  flesh's  despite  ? 
Ye  are  mighty.      But  I  hold  you 
Compassed  in  a  vaster  might. 

Sun,  before  your  flaming  circuit 
Smote  upon  the  uncumbered  dark, 
I,  within  the  Thought  Eternal 
Palpitant,  a  quenchless  spark. 
Watched  while  God  awoke  and  set  you 
For  a  measure  and  a  mark. 
58 


CHILD     OF     THE     INFINITE 

Dove  of  Heaven,  ere  you  brooded 
Whitely  o'er  the  shoreless  waste, 
And  upon  the  driven  waters 
Your  austere  enchantment    placed, 
I  was  power  in  God's  conception, 
Without  rest  and  without  haste. 

Breath  of  Time,  before  your  whisper 
Wandered  o'er  the  naked  world, 
Ere  your  wrath  from  pole  to  tropic 
Running  Alps  of  ocean  hurled, 
I,  the  germ  of  storm  in  stillness. 
At  the  heart  of  God  lay  furled. 

Journeying  Spirit,  ere  your  tongues 
Taught  the  perished  to  aspire. 
Charged  the  clod,  and  called  the  mortal 
Through  the  reinitiant  fire, 
I  was  of  the  fiery  impulse 
Urging  the  Divine  Desire. 
59 


CHILD    OF     THE     INFINITE 

Seed  of  Earth,  when  down  the  void 
You  were  scattered  from  His  hand, 
When  the  spinning  clot  contracted, 
Globed  and  greened  at  His  command, 
I,  behind  the  sifting  fingers, 
Saw  the  scheme  of  beauty  planned. 

Phantom  of  the  Many  Waters, 

When  no  more  you  fleet  and  fall, 

When  no  more  your  round  you  follow. 

Infinite,  ephemeral. 

At  the  feet  of  the  Unsleeping 

I  shall  toss  you  like  a  ball. 

Rolling  Masks  of  Life  and  Death, 
When  no  more  your  ancient  place 
Knows  you,  when  your  light  and  darkness 
Swing  no  longer  over  space. 
My  remembrance  shall  restore  you 
To  the  favour  of  His  face. 
60 


A   REMORSE. 

I  dreamed  last  night  my  love  was  dead. 
The  dreadful  thing  was  this  !  — 
Not  that  my  lips  would  feel  no  more 
The  kindness  of  her  kiss ; 
Not  that  my  feet  the  weary  years 
Would  go  uncomraded ; 
Not  that  of  all  my  love  for  her 
So  much  remained  unsaid ;  — 
But,  sickening,  I  remembered  how 
I  had  been  false  to  her ! 
«  O  God  !  "  I  cried  aloud  —  "  She  knows 
I  have  been  false  to  her  !  " 


6i 


THE   CONSPIRATORS. 

Come,  Death,  sit  down  with  me, 
Thou  and  Love,  we  three 
In  a  sad  conspiracy 
Against  life,  our  enemy. 

Thine,  Death,  the  briefer  score, 

Though  she  hate  thee  evermore. 

Hate  of  hers  is  less  sore 

Than  her  treasons  honeyed  o'er 

With  old,  sweet  lies  and  false,  sweet  lore. 

Whom  she  hurts  thou  healest.  Death. 

That  is  what  she  hates  thee  for. 

Thine,  Love,  the  bitterer  plaint. 

She  has  kissed  thee,  fooled  thee,  shamed  thee, 

62 


THE     CONSPIRATORS 


Clasped  thee,  and  disclaimed  thee. 
Found  thee  white,  child  and  saint, 
Left  thee  with  the  world's  taint. 
Found  thee  strong,  left  thee  faint. 
Used  thee,  and  defamed  thee 

I,  who  love  life,  needs  must  live ; 
But,  loving  most,  can  least  forgive. 

Leave  her.  Love  !     Forsake  her.  Death  ! 
So  shall  men  come  to  curse  their  breath ! 


63 


HEAT   IN  THE   CITY. 

Over  the  scorching  roofs  of  iron 
The  red  moon  rises  slow. 
Uncomforted  beneath  its  light 
The  pale  crowds  gasping  go. 

The  heart-sick  city,  spent  with  day, 
Cries  out  in  vain  for  sleep. 
The  childless  wife  beside  her  dead 
Is  too  outworn  to  weep. 

The  children  in  the  upper  rooms 
Lie  faint,  with  half-shut  eyes. 
In  the  thick-breathing,  lighted  ward 
The  stricken  workman  dies. 


64 


HEAT     IN     THE     CITY 


From  breathless  pit  and  sweltering  loft 
Dim  shapes  creep  one  by  one 
To  throng  the  curb  and  crowd  the  stoops 
And  fear  to-morrow's  sun. 


6s 


THE     GREAT     AND     THE 
LITTLE     WEAVERS. 

The  great  and  the  little  weavers. 
They  neither  rest  nor  sleep. 
They  work  in  the  height  and  the  glory. 
They  toil  in  the  dark  and  the  deep. 

The  rainbow  melts  with  the  shower, 
The  white-thorn  falls  in  the  gust. 
The  cloud-rose  dies  into  shadow. 
The  earth-rose  dies  into  dust. 

But  they  have  not  faded  forever. 
They  have  not  flowered  in  vain, 
For  the  great  and  the  little  weavers 
Are  weaving  under  the  rain. 


06 


GREAT     AND     LITTLE     WEAVERS 

Recede  the  drums  of  the  thunder 
When  the  Titan  chorus  tires, 
And  the  bird-song  piercing  the  sunset 
Faints  with  the  sunset  fires, 

But  the  trump  of  the  storm  shall  fail  not. 
Nor  the  flute-cry  fail  of  the  thrush. 
For  the  great  and  the  little  weavers 
Are  weaving  under  the  hush. 

The  comet  flares  into  darkness. 
The  flame  dissolves  into  death, 
The  power  of  the  star  and  the  dew 
They  grow  and  are  gone  like  a  breath. 

But  ere  yet  the  old  wonder  is  done 
Is  the  new-old  wonder  begun. 
For  the  great  and  the  little  weavers 
Are  weaving  under  the  sun. 


6y 


GREAT     AND     LITTLE     WEAVERS 

The  domes  of  an  empire  crumble, 
A  child's  hope  dies  in  tears ; 
Time  rolls  them  away  forgotten 
In  the  silt  of  the  flooding  years ; 

The  creed  for  which  men  died  smiling 
Decays  to  a  beldame's  curse ; 
The  love  that  made  lips  immortal 
Drags  by  in  a  tattered  hearse. 

But  not  till  the  search  of  the  moon 
Sees  the  last  white  face  uplift, 
And  over  the  bones  of  the  kindreds 
The  bare  sands  dredge  and  drift, 

Shall  Love  forget  to  return 

And  lift  the  unused  latch, 

(In  his  eyes  the  look  of  the  traveller. 

On  his  lips  the  foreign  catch), 


68 


GREAT    AND     LITTLE     WEAVERS 

Nor  the  mad  song  leave  men  cold, 
Nor  the  high  dream  summon  in  vain,  — 
For  the  great  and  the  little  weavers 
Are  weaving  in  heart  and  brain. 


69 


LINES     FOR    AN     OMAR 
PUNCH-BOWL. 


TO    C.    B. 


Omar,  dying,  left  his  dust 
To  the  rose  and  vine  in  trust. 


*'  Through  a  thousand  springs  "  —  said  he, 
"  Mix  your  memories  with  me. 

*'  Fire  the  sap  that  fills  each  bud 
With  an  essence  from  my  blood. 

"  When  the  garden  glows  with  June 
Use  me  through  the  scented  noon, 


70 


LINES     FOR    AN     OMAR     PUNCH-BOWL 

*'  Till  the  heat's  alchemic  art 
Fashions  me  in  every  part. 

"  You,  whose  petals  strew  the  grass 
Round  my  lone,  inverted  glass, 

"  Each  impassioned  atom  mould 
To  a  red  bloom  with  core  of  gold. 

"  You,  whose  tendrils,  soft  as  tears. 
Touch  me  with  remembered  years, 

"  When  your  globing  clusters  shine. 
Slow  distil  my  dreams  to  wine, 

*'  Till  by  many  a  sweet  rebirth 
Love  and  joy  transmute  my  earth, 

"  Changing  me,  on  some  far  day. 
To  a  more  ecstatic  clay, 
71 


LINES     FOR    AN     OMAR     PUNCH-BOWL 

"  Whence  the  Potter's  craft  sublime 
Shall  mould  a  shape  to  outlast  Time." 


Omar's  body,  Omar's  soul. 
Breathe  in  beauty  from  this  bowl. 

At  whose  thronged,  mysterious  rim 
Wan  desires,  enchantments  dim, 

Tears  and  laughter,  life  and  death. 
Fleeing  love  and  fainting  breath. 

Seem  to  waver  like  a  flame. 
Dissolve,  —  yet  ever  rest  the  same. 

Fixed  by  your  art,  while  art  shall  be. 
In  passionate  immobility. 


72 


SHEPHERDESS   FAIR. 

O  shepherdess  fair,  the  flocks  you  keep 
Are  dreams  and  desires  and  tears  and  sleep. 

O  shepherdess  brown,  O  shepherdess  fair. 
Where  are  my  flocks  you  have  in  care  ?        , 

My  wonderful,  white,  wide-pasturing  sheep 
Of  dream  and  desire  and  tears  and  sleep  ? 

Many  the  flocks,  but  small  the  care 

You  give  to  their  keeping,  O  shepherdess  fair ! 

O  shepherdess  gay,  your  flocks  have  fed 
By  the  iris  pool,  by  the  saffron  bed. 


73 


SHEPHERDESS     FAIR 


Till  now  by  noon  they  have  wandered  far, 
And  you  have  forgotten  where  they  are  ! 

O  shepherdess  fair,  O  shepherdess  wild. 
Full  wise  are  your  flocks,  but  you  a  child  ! 

You  shall  not  be  chid  if  you  let  them  stray. 
In  your  own  wild  way,  in  your  own  child  way. 
You  will  call  them  all  back  at  the  close  of  day. 


74 


THE     PIPER     AND     THE 
CHIMING     PEAS. 

There  was  a  little  piper  man 

As  merry  as  you  please. 

Who  heard  one  day  the  sweet-pea  blossoms 

Chiming  in  the  breeze. 

He  murmured  with  a  courtly  grace 
That  set  them  quite  at  ease, — 
"  I  never  knew  that  you  had  such 
Accomplishments  as  these ! 

"  If  I  should  pipe  until  you're  ripe 
I  think  that  by  degrees 
You  might  become  as  wise  as  I 
And  chime  in  Wagnerese  !  " 
75 


PIPER     AND     THE      CHIMING     PEAS 

"  Oh,  no,  kind  Sir  !     That  could  not  be  !  " 

Replied  the  modest  peas. 

*'  We  only  play  such  simple  airs 

As  suit  the  bumble-bees." 


76 


WHEN    MARY    THE    MOTHER 
KISSED   THE   CHILD. 

When  Mary  the  Mother  kissed  the  Child 
And  night  on  the  wintry  hills  grew  mild, 
And  the  strange  star  swung  from  the  courts  of 

air 
To  serve  at  a  manger  with  kings  in  prayer, 
Then  did  the  day  of  the  simple  kin 
And  the  unregarded  folk  begin. 

When  Mary  the  Mother  forgot  the  pain. 
In  the  stable  of  rock  began  love's  reign. 
When  that  new  light  on  their  grave  eyes  broke 
The  oxen  were  glad  and  forgot  their  yoke ; 
And  the  huddled  sheep  in  the  far  hill  fold 
Stirred  in  their  sleep  and  felt  no  cold. 
77 


MARY     THE     MOTHER     KISSED     THE     CHILD 

When  Mary  the  Mother  gave  of  her  breast 
To  the  poor  inn's  latest  and  lowliest  guest,  — 
The  God  born  out  of  the  woman's  side,  — 
The  Babe  of  Heaven  by  Earth  denied,  — 
Then  did  the  hurt  ones  cease  to  moan, 
And  the  long-supplanted  came  to  their  own. 

When  Mary  the  Mother  felt  faint  hands 
Beat  at  her  bosom  with  life's  demands. 
And  nought  to  her  were  the  kneeling  kings. 
The  serving  star  and  the  half-seen  wings. 
Then  was  the  little  of  earth  made  great. 
And  the  man  came  back  to  the  God's  estate. 


78 


AT   THE   WAYSIDE   SHRINE. 

(STE.    ANNE    DE    BEAUPRE.) 

So  little  and  so  kind  a  shrine ! 
So  homely  and  serene  a  saint !  — 
No  violent  sorrow  can  be  thine, 
Thou  patient  pensioner  of  constraint ! 

This  gentle  gloom  that  wraps  thee  in 
Mistaking  for  a  soul's  despair, 
Thou  griev'st,  perchance,  for  some  small  sin. 
Too  trivial  for  such  fervent  prayer. 

Not  sin  hath  wanned  thy  weary  face, 
Nor  living  woe  made  dark  thine  eyes. 
Nor  memory  wrought  this  pleading  grace,  — 
But  ignorance,  and  dumb  surmise. 
79 


AT     THE     WAYSIDE     SHRINE 

The  bleeding  feet  of  shameful  pain 
Have  passed  not  up  this  tranquil  way, 
Nor  late  repentance,  haply  vain. 
By  these  slim  poplars  knelt  to  pray. 

Thine  is  the  sadness  of  the  breast 
That  has  not  known  the  human  strife  — 
Weighed  down  with  shelter,  worn  with  rest, 
Athirst  for  the  free  storms  of  life. 

Thine  is  the  ache  of  lips  that  ache 
For  unknown  pangs,  unknown  delight, — 
The  emptiness  of  hearts  that  break 
"With  dreaming  through  the  empty  night. 

Thy  woe  thou  canst  not  understand. 
Poor  soul  and  body  incomplete  ! 
Thou  hungerest  for  a  little  hand 
And  touch  of  little  unknown  feet. 


80 


AT     THE     WAYSIDE     SHRINE 

But  now,  because  all  sorrows  cease 
Assuaged  by  such  sweet  faith  as  thine, 
The  dear  Saint  Anne  shall  give  thee  peace 
Here  at  her  little,  kindly  shrine. 


8i 


THE   AIM. 

0  Thou  who  lovest  not  alone 
The  swift  success,  the  instant  goal, 
But  hast  a  lenient  eye  to  mark 
The  failures  of  the  inconstant  soul. 

Consider  not  my  little  worth,  — 
The  mean  achievement,  scamped  in  act. 
The  high  resolve  and  low  result. 
The  dream  that  durst  not  face  the  fact. 

But  count  the  reach  of  my  desire. 
Let  this  be  something  in  thy  sight :  — 

1  have  not,  in  the  slothful  dark, 
Forgot  the  Vision  and  the  Height. 


82 


THE     AIM 


Neither  my  body  nor  my  soul 
To  earth's  low  ease  will  yield  consent. 
I  praise  Thee  for  my  will  to  strive. 
I  bless  Thy  goad  of  discontent. 


83 


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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRAPY  FACJ" 


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